Weir And When

“Um, Bobby?”

“Coop?”

“Don’t call me that. Are we in an editing program?”

ROCK STAR LOOKING AROUND NOISE

“Looks like it. So, uh, we can count out Thelma Schoonmaker. She’s old school.”

“Bob.”

“Razor blades and tape and whatnot. Much more authentic cuts.”

“Bob.”

“Coop, you wanna check out what’s in that chafing dish over there? I’m peckish as all get out.”

…

“This doesn’t bother you?”

“You know what band I’m in, right?”

“Still: this is weird even for you.”

“Actually, no. This is right down the middle for a weekday. Gosh, I could swim in your eyes.”

“Focus, Bob.”

“Why don’t we take a call?”

“What?”

“Caller, you’re on the air.”

“Who am I speaking to? The hippie or the homo?”

“Excuse me?”

“The hippie.”

“Excellent, excellent. This is your president.”

“No, not anymore. I think you meant to call 1972.”

“Goddammit, did Rosemary dial wrong again? Woman can’t run a switchboard. Just no good with electronics. When am I speaking to?”

“2015-ish. Somewhen around then.”

“Seriously, what’s happening?”

“Don’t worry about it, Coop, but I need you to get on the chafing dish. There, uh, could be sliders in there.”

“Now, listen here. I need that young man’s number, the negro singer. The suggestible one. The Republicans are making an outreach to the urban community. And the rural urban community. Wherever the urbans live, we’re going after them, and the young man with the high opinion of himself is a natural fit for our agenda.”

“What’s your agenda?”

“Crushing the urban community.”

“Ah.”

“The number, please.”

“I don’t have it on me, but if you call me back in 1972, I will. Or I did. You know what I mean.”

“Time travel makes everything more complicated, but nothing moreso than conjugation.”

“You got it. Hey, uh, Coop. You wanna talk to Nixon?”

“What’s happening?”

…

“Buddy, God love ya, but you’re adding virtually nothing to this scene.”

“What?”